The Red Shirts
by Aislin30a
Summary: There was a request on LJ for a fic where the Red Shirts kick ass. This doesn't have much of a plot. It's mostly Cupcake being philosophical. I thought someone might find it interesting.


**Title:** The Red Shirts  
**Characters:** Cupcake with a side of McCoy, Spock and minor OCs  
**Rating:** T for subject matter?  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek or anything associated with it. I'm doing this for fun, not profit.

**Author's Notes:** Okay. This was done for a prompt at the LJ Kink Meme _months ago_. It hasn't got much of a plot (and no porn to excuse the lack of plot). It's mostly Cupcake being philosophical. Here's my note to the OP:

_Okay, I saw this post ages and ages ago, and found myself in total agreement. I totally want our dear Red Shirts to be kick ass. So I started writing something which became more of a brain barf than a fic. My beta, the lovely Re_White informed me of this and told me to save it and use it as a starting point for an actual fic._

_It's been sitting in my writing folder for a couple of months now and I'm not really sure what to do with it. So I'm giving it to you as a fill because I have no idea when I'll be able to get around to writing an actual fic. You know, with a plot? ^^'_

_Anyway, you haven't gotten a fill for this. Which is a real shame cause it's a great prompt. So here's my gift to you:_

I thought other people might find it interesting so I'm posting it.

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**The Red Shirts**

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Angus Mathews (known by everyone as Lieutenant Cupcake but only referred to as such by Captain Kirk) elaborates on the color red.

It's a good color overall, associated with courage, strength and good luck in many cultures back on Earth. But not a color one might associate with a group of men and women who are often called upon to participate in combat. True, many of the older military forces of Earth prior to the World Wars tended to use red in their combat uniforms, likely to invoke the meanings it held. Possibly to hide the blood of their wounds from the notice of enemy forces.

Deception is one of the cornerstones of battle. Over time, past military forces had gravitated towards the idea that a better deception than hiding a soldier's blood after they'd been wounded would be to _hide the soldier_ before they could _become_ wounded. Which is when camouflage made a comeback among the 'civilized' societies of the time.

Over the next 200 years they came up with some pretty ingenious stuff. From the classic mottling pattern (that was so prevalent it became the quintessential image of camouflage for several generations), to radar deflecting geometry and equipment designed to confuse the human brain's pattern recognition tendencies to such an extent that the mind _wanted_ to pass over the object without a thought. Camouflage was an excellent way to decrease the amount of casualties during an engagement.

Still, this deception technique had eventually fallen out of favor, some time after First Contact; just as different ideas of what combat was actually supposed to entail came in and then fell out of favor. The same societies who dressed their soldiers in flashy red also thought lining them up in neat little rows - marching smartly to the beat of a drum, to face and fire upon the opponent's equally neat rows until one side was clearly the winner by dint of having the most soldiers left standing - was the height of military strategy.

The camouflaged armies that replaced them had started out as guerrilla warriors, fighting -and winning against- the quickly outdated walking score cards that came before them. Their rules were comparatively few in the beginning. Until they witnessed the horrors of chemical warfare, then physics and pretty equations gone wrong, then systematic genocide to quickly backpedal and declare '_This far and no further_'.

Once again the idea of civilized combat was in vogue with its pretty conventions, its neutral enforcers, impotent in their actual abilities but respected and invoked for authority all dressed up in red tape. And wouldn't that be hilarious -the games they played, how invested they were, how _proud_ they were of their humanitarian efforts- if it weren't so damned sad.

Combat isn't civilized, it never can be. The very idea of it, of laws against perfidy, for the proper treatment of enemy combatants and of civilians. The prohibition of _inhumane_ weapons as though there was such a thing as a _humane_ weapon. The _very idea_ is counter intuitive.

What can possibly be civilized about an activity that's principle focus is destruction? All the rules, the white flags and identifying insignia, the reasonable degree of violence and the measured response makes it all sound like a game. How is it any different than those rows and rows of sacrificial soldiers, lined up in a field, dressed in red so the families out for a picnic can see the results of the engagement without the unseemly sight of blood?

But that's human nature, isn't it? To put on a mask and paint a pretty picture to hide the horrifying truth. The fact that humans are just animals with the added ability to delude themselves. The dangers in nature are very straight forward, there's no blurring of lines or attempts to make things easier on anyone. There are the ones who hide, who deceive. Perfecting their camouflage to the point where they just fade away or trick you into really believing they're something they aren't. No mercy, no apologies. And there are the ones who stand out, a clear warning. Bold, colorful, an obvious presence stating clearly '_Do not engage, nothing but death waits for you here_'.

Funnily enough, the preferred color of that last group is red.

"So what I'm trying to say," Lieutenant Mathews explains to the would-be assassins who are bound and bleeding on the floor, their eyes flashing between himself and his security team standing guard. "Is that those of us in the combative devisions of Star Fleet went through a period of introspection when things first started up and came to an understanding of our underlying nature. And decided that our purpose as a whole wasn't exactly to _win_ in confrontations but to ensure that they don't start in the first place."

"The red shirts were your clue, is what he's gettin' at. You know, that whole '_don't mess with us, we'll kick your ass_' type of thing." Ensign Daniels supplies helpfully from his post at the flank, because their prisoners continue to look lost and vaguely disconnected from the world around them.

"Not that I don't find you're philosophical side absolutely fascinating, Lieutenant." Doctor McCoy grumbles from his position behind Ensign Herrington and Crewman Seng. He's examining the shocked, _but not wounded_, Andorian ambassador closely with his tricorder, Commander Spock looking over his shoulder. "But I'm pretty sure Thetins are color blind."

"Way to burst my bubble, Doc." Mathews sighs, but it's lost in Daniels' enthusiastic "_Well, it's a good thing we're damn good at this then, ain't it?_".

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End

(So there it is)


End file.
